


Seven Pills

by gala_apples



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Incest, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 16:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: It's not the first, second, or fifth time Luther and Klaus have rolled on E together. It is the first time things start to get a bit risque.





	Seven Pills

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'intoxicants' prompt for seasonofkink.
> 
> Disclaimer: I tried to model their experience closely to my own experiences on E. I did... a _lot_ in high school and college. People's experiences vary, but there's a reason MDMA is a therapy for PTSD. If you've never tried it before, [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir2Sg_8hC3w) essentially summarizes my feelings.
> 
> I am extremely hesitant to tag this dub-con. I know some people come from the viewpoint that all non-sober sex cannot have true consent. Again based on my own experiences, Luther and Klaus are really chill about it. But if high-sex is uncomfortable for you, this is NOT your fic.

Klaus bought a set of seven. Luther hates when he gets odd numbers. Neither wants to come down before the other, but cutting a pill in equal halves in harder than it sounds. A true pain in the ass. Of course, if they end up having a good time on these Klaus’ll probably go and buy more of the same batch before the dealer runs out. Every colour and stamp has a different effect, according to the combination of meth and MDMA and other random filler, so when you find something you like, you buy before it sells out. It’s not like E _expires_.

“One to come up on, two to strengthen the trip.”

“Two to come up on, one to ease the come down.”

Luther wins. He always wins when it comes to arguments, he can pull the big brother card. They take one each, washing them down with the first sip in the large water bottles they have to finish by the end of the roll. Dehydration is bad, but they’ve heard about people over-compensating and getting water poisoning. A hiking bottle is just the right amount.

It quickly becomes clear the pills are more MDMA than meth. It’s nice, and lovely, and fantastic, and as Luther lies on his back making carpet angels, limbs extending and drawing in, he thinks people should know. “Text your dealer?”

“What should I tell her?”

“Tell her these are good pills and thank her for selling them.”

Klaus nods. He’s reclined too, but propped up so he can still get a good look at Luther. Nights like these, Luther loves eye contact, something he went without for so long. “Good idea. Manners are polite, and win you friends, because everyone likes people with manners, except for the dead, because they like being jaded.”

Luther forgets sometimes that Klaus doesn’t just see the dead, he deals with their individual quirks and sob stories. In his years of isolation on the moon, Luther would have considered Klaus’ circumstances trivial. It took everything falling apart and a strong dose of narcotics to get over his envy and begin to develop a relationship again. No wonder he still does this beautiful thing, when it brought him back his brother. He’s not ashamed. How could he be, when anyone who’s ever tried E knows how good of a person they are, and how good the world genuinely is? The drug has a way of clarifying things. If everyone just did E the world would be a lot better place.

“I told her we love her. I think I’m gonna tell everyone I love them.”

“They’ll know we’re rolling,” Luther replies. They’re not the kind of family to just be affectionate. Luther can’t even imagine the kind of family that wouldn’t find an _I love you_ suspicious. He imagines it would be nice, like soft couches and donuts and not having to poop in a bag and carry it outside every morning.

“Everybody already knows, man. Ben stopped manifesting, so Four must be back to his ole’ tricks.” Klaus chuckles. It’s barely cynical, a sign that Klaus is truly rolling. 

Luther crawls over to Klaus, suddenly unsure of how or why there’s so much distance between them. Klaus understands the feeling immediately. Of course he does, being a virtuoso of narcotics. As soon as Luther gets close enough Klaus pulls him into his arms. And then he does one better. Klaus turns them so Luther’s on top. Luther’s spent so long feeling like a behemoth. So long feeling hideous and dangerously huge and as hairy as an animal. If for no other reason, E is a miracle for making him feel comfortable enough to wear a t-shirt under his trenchcoat. Klaus bearing his weight without breaking into bits makes Luther the happiest he’s been in awhile. It’s the kind of memory that’ll make tomorrow’s serotonin depletion less of a struggle.

Klaus doesn’t stop there. After spending a moment on his back under Luther he tips them again, so they’re on their other sides. Klaus keeps turning them, like they’re rolling down a hill without the hill. It’s absolutely hilarious. Luther hasn’t had much opportunity to giggle in the last, oh, four years. Klaus comes to rest and Luther presses his smile into Klaus’ neck. It takes Luther a bit to realise he’s still moving, as happy as he is focused on Klaus’ skin against his lips. Klaus’ neck smells like mint shower gel, and Luther likes it. Alison was always fruity, always different, mixed berry and tangerine and cherry. Klaus is routinely mint, and high like this Luther wants to eat the essence of mint, even if the idea of actually consuming anything is gross. His brain is so caught on the smell/taste/aura of Klaus that it forgets it’s body, and what it’s doing. Specifically, rocking his hips from left to right and back again. 

It’s unsurprising, really. All rolls involve repetitive movement. This is better than the time Luther couldn’t stop grabbing the back of his neck. It’s _lots_ better than the time he was laying on his stomach, kicking, and his toes felt nearly shattered from hours of abuse after he came down. Moving his pelvis on top of Klaus is nice. It’s almost sexy. It’s probably not supposed to be, but it kind of is. But he’s in no position to contemplate morals now. The best thing is to do whatever now, and figure it out later, when he’s able to reason.

Luther continues to sway his hips, but kicks it up a notch. 

“Luther, buddy,” Klaus chuckles. He’s so pretty when he’s smiling. Luther wants to touch his lips. “Luther, One, we can’t do this. You’re not going to be happy when you’re sober.”

“I’m never happy when I’m sober.” Luther doesn’t feel like that guy right now, not with a bountiful layer of chemical joy wrapped around him, but he’s coherent enough to know who he usually is.

“One, baby. I know how you feel. I’m kind of the king of that, really, can’t you imagine me with a crown? Crown and feathers, it’d have to be feathers, whether it’s the cloak or the boa. But the king, I’m the king of ‘sobriety blows’. I only do it for Ben, he likes moving things. But Luther, and this is very important-” Klaus manages to worm his hands out from the weight of Luther’s enormous chest and place them on Luther’s cheeks. He’s warm, and uncalloused, and lovely. “I’m also the king of regretting drug inspired choices. Not on E, not usually, but still. If you hate this, hate me and hate E after this thing you think you want to do, it’ll ruin a lot.”

Luther tries to turn his head, but Klaus has too strong of a grip to let his fingers simply slip to Luther’s mouth. Too bad. “I want to suck on your fingers, and I want to touch you everywhere and I want to do everything. I bet you feel like mint too.”

Klaus groans. “You’re killing me here. I just want-”

“The straight drug newb to not have gay panic tomorrow. I get it. But if that was gonna happen, it would have happened the first time Diego gave me a handjob.” It used to be a secret, not like him and Alison, but Luther doesn’t like secrets anymore. Secrets make everything bad. Luther likes good things, not bad things. 

Barking laughter comes from Klaus’ pretty mouth. “You too, huh? Two’s pretty dexterous, even when it’s fingers and not daggers.”

Luther’s never considered those few times as a teenager losing his virginity, that’s owed to that raver during Luther’s first night on E. But there’s no denying that Diego pinning him against a wall and jerking him without a word before stalking off were good times. When you’re sixteen a handjob is leagues above jerking off. 

“So you’re rolling and bicurious at the least, it’s not just MDMA induced. Remind me that this is a bad idea, _One_ ,” Klaus begs, smile on his face.

“You’ve never had sex while high?” Luther retorts gently. They’re coming close to arguing, which is something that is literally the opposite of the mood he’s in, and he’ll stop if it gets any more vicious. Still, he has a clear point. Klaus’ nannying is hypocritical, and a denial would be a ridiculous lie. Klaus has been doing drugs since he was fourteen, shortly after Dad locked him in a mausoleum overnight. He’s slept with men, women, non-binary and fluid since around the same time. There’s no way the two circles of the Venn diagram don’t deeply overlap.

“How many different drugs have I had sex on, is more the question,” Klaus sighs fondly. “But you’re better than me.”

“Never, never, never, stop it,” Luther whispers. Klaus had wanted to talk to Vanya. If they had, things might have turned out better. They wouldn’t have needed such a convoluted struggle to get the timeline back in place and the apocalypse averted. “I want you, I want you, Klaus, please, I want-” He’s talking so fast he’s not sure if Klaus can really understand him. Probably though. Overhearing one of Klaus’ E rambles was always easier to parse than the oxy or the ketamine. Even if Klaus doesn’t understand, Luther can press his meaning into the way his body is moving on top of Klaus, and the tone of his voice. “Klaus, Four. Touch me, please just-”

Klaus’ hands drift up the hem of Luther’s t-shirt. For only the second time in Luther’s adult life, someone is willingly touching his gnarled mess of furry muscley skin. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Luther.”

They spend the next eon, the next eternity writhing on each other. Time is a fantasy concept on E, and Luther couldn’t judge accurately if someone pointed a gun at his head. At some point their pants come off, and they’re dick to dick. It makes Luther feel like he’s coming out of his skin. Klaus feels so good against him. And it keeps going, and going, and going, because his mind is fractured by wild chemicals. But hey, if he’s going to be experimented on, at least this time it’s not on his body. Luther’s too well trained to ever make the same mistake twice.

It takes a long time to orgasm when you’re rolling. It was dawn before he and the raver were finished. He’s also heard anecdotes from the woman. They spent hours talking, they talked the whole time they fucked. A few of her thousand stories were about other sexual experiences, and the tantric nature of being sexual when your physical vessel won’t allow for release. Luther’s not sure if it’ll happen now, with Klaus. He wants to, but it’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t happen. He’s seen the end of the world, and it’s a hell of a lot worse than not coming. It’s hard to be hyperbolic in the face of reality.

His orgasm is like a pocket of air bubbling up from a deep ocean. Interesting. Visible. Just barely noticeable among the wet depths. Luther likes coming, but he’s already submerged in joy. Orgasmic bliss is just a blurp of rising air. Ephemeral. Klaus continues rocking his hips up with a dedication only the high could have. Luther looks at his beautiful face and tries to heal an increment of their childhood isolation. He doesn’t have anything to say, he just wants to be there for Klaus to take what he needs.

Klaus’ mouth gapes open as he comes, uncountable time later. Luther’s not sure what pushed him over the edge, but he’s grateful to the universe for Klaus’ opportunity. That wide cavern though, it’s artwork. Luther can’t look away. It’s funny how he wants to fill it with stuff, so Luther giggles. Fingers. Cotton balls. Marshmallows. Dick. Grapes. Cinnamon. They’d all be great pushing past Klaus’ lips.

“Do you want to make play dough?” Klaus asks, breathless and eager, eyes wide open. “I think we have all the ingredients. What are the ingredients? I bet we have them.”

Luther’s suddenly delighted at the concept of squishing something smooth and moist between his fingers. “Do you think it would smell like oranges or turn color if we added orange juice?”

“We can only try.” Klaus pats him. “Come on, get up. Let’s get this done.”

Finding motivation for follow through is tough, high. Luther considers the effort of getting up and doing things, versus continuing to lay on the floor and having metronome movement. He lands on the side of Klaus, and this comfortable floor.

“Come on,” Klaus goads. “Water, then play dough.” 

“Ugh, water. Do we have to?” It’s just so unappetizing. The water bottle seems so obnoxiously large now.

“I’ll let you mix in any ingredient you can find,” Klaus sing-songs. His voice sounds like mint too, smooth and lush.

Luther could do that without Klaus’ permission, but it feels nicer this way. He wants to get up and drink and wander to the kitchen of the McMansion they’re all sharing, if it’ll make Klaus happen. He _will_ get up, any second now. Just give him a minute first.


End file.
